Dangerous Woman
by RyokoMist
Summary: A serial killer is loose in Gotham with specific prey in his sights - and he's already claimed 12 victims. In order to help Batman catch him: Max volunteers herself, much to the Dark Knight's dismay. But the psychopath they're hunting is far more dangerous than either of them could have ever imagined, and things take a deadly turn! Terry/Max (Merry/ Tax). Rated M for some violence.
1. Chapter 1

Hey all! Okay, here's the beginning of another short story. No worries, I'm still working on the current ones. I updated a few of them a while ago, also. Anyways, things get a little deadly in this story as you already can tell it's taking a potentially dark turn. I don't intend on this story surpassing 4 chapters (5 at the most). I'm trying to work on really condensing this stuff. Anyways, I hope you enjoy the start to this new tale.

 _ **Dangerous Woman**_

 **Chapter One**

* * *

 _She walked out the shady building's back door into the darkened alley with a loud giggle as the voices from inside finally faded away once the rusted, metal door slammed shut, sending an eerie echo about the air that she (unfortunately) took no notice of. The woman stifled the last remnants of laughter as she faced the reality of Gotham's darkened night. Her green eyes struggled against the blackness that surrounded her as it suddenly registered that this night was darker than usual. The young woman – approximately twenty-three with shoulder length stringy blue hair and darkened freckles across her cheeks and chest – heaved an uncomfortable breath as her eyes looked to where the streetlights lining the alley were…only to discover them not on._

 _Shit. Maybe she should have had Joe walk her to the street after all. Oh well, she was a New York gal – a Gotham one at that – and more than capable of taking care of herself; especially with a can of pepper spray fastened tightly to her hands within her trench coat jacket. Even still, the main road up ahead was so far away…The sound of a cat screeching behind her was enough to get the girl walking forward for the busy road where car lights whizzed by. Her heels clicked musically against the pavement as the tension started to slowly ease away from her like water off a duck's back the closer she got to the main road. Her hand released the pepper spray in her pocket…_

 _As she passed a large dumpster to the side of the alley, a hand reached out from the shadows and grabbed the belt that was tied dutifully around the woman's stomach, pulling with so much force that it literally knocked the air right out of her. Everything happened so fast – faster than she could even comprehend. A palm, warm and rough, grabbed her jacket and nearly ripped it off, revealing the lingerie set she'd worked so hard to conceal. Another hand flew to her mouth, covering it just in time as she released a frightened scream. A voice chuckled as light from what she thought was a cigar illuminated a pair of black eyes – literal black eyes – with whitened pupils. A sadistic grin rested upon those lips as the assailant pinned her against the dumpster and tore at her lower undergarments. Horror filled the young woman's gaze, and the last thing she remembered was a frightening cackle, searing pain, and the smell of her own burning flesh as the hot bud of the cigar pressed against her throat._

 _And then…_

* * *

Barbara Gordon scowled with disgust at the sight in front of her before motioning for CSI to head out of the building for a minute; after all, he was patiently waiting up in the rafters behind her. They were at the remodeled Gotham docks inside one of the older warehouses that was pretty much useless by now. In fact, docking authority was going to have it tore down tonight. Barbara scoffed internally as she looked around the warehouse and shook her head; tonight wasn't soon enough, apparently. Gotham P.D. had gotten a hysterical call from a forklift operator about what he'd found while on lunch in the building, and given the circumstances, Gordon was here in a heartbeat. The air was foul and stale, and the corpse didn't help with that in the slightest. Once her men had left her alone – they knew why, and dared not question it – Barbara's eyes shifted to her left. "You're getting better, kid," the elderly yet authoritative woman stated with what unusually sounded like a lace of praise in her tone. "I almost didn't know _exactly_ where you were hiding."

"Yeah?" came a rough voice from the nothingness before a midnight black shape with a red bat insignia glowing upon its chest and terrifyingly white eyes suddenly melted into existence out of its camouflage state, walking towards the Commissioner and ex-Batgirl with a cocky smirk. It was not often when criticism was replaced with praise – not matter how dry – from one of the two originals; he was going to take this and run with it. He was Batman; the only ray of hope this futuristic Gotham had had in a much too long time. Sure he was inexperienced, cocky, brash, hardheaded, a _kid_ – but even the now aged, hard, and darker Barbara had to admit that he still managed to get the job done….somehow. And with all the hell Gotham sank into after the original Dark Knight was forced to retire, "somehow" was still better than nothing. "I take that as a compliment. Try getting the old _man_ to see it like that too."

In spite of her dislike at the idea of a teenaged vigilante with a history of his own practically running her streets, Barbara couldn't help but chuckle at that sentiment. "He always was a perfectionist to a fault." Her eyes squinted with a smile and for a moment she was a teenager, free and teasing once again…but only briefly. "Maybe if he'd checked that, we'd all still one big happy family." Commissioner Gordon's face turned once more for the form lying before her, and all trace of play was gone and replaced with an unreadable expression.

Realizing it was time to get to business, the young Batman of the future started to make his way around Gordon's side as he pulled up next to her and asked, "So, what've we got-?" He looked down and the whitened eyes of his full faced cowl widened in absolute disbelief as he swallowed and coughed in an attempt to regain his composure. On the cracked and unseemly concrete floor before them was a heap of fishnets, scattered throughout with mud, underwater foliage, and even fish…and in the dead center of all that was a body: a young woman paled significantly by death with stringy blue hair wearing lingerie which looked almost nonexistent by now, soaked to the bone with open, lifeless green eyes – she was covered head to toe in blue and black bruises. One side (only one, which was odd) of her face was beaten to the point that it was almost unrecognizable. A worm-like specimen crawled out of her mouth and Batman had to turn and bend over on his knees as he heaved in a deep breath and quietly urged his self not to lose anything despite having an empty stomach. "Oh God," the vigilante murmured.

Of course this would be his reaction – he still didn't have much time in as they once had at his age. He'd seen some messed up stuff over his short tenure wearing the insignia, but the neo-Batman's psyche had yet to dull itself to the force of it. "You okay, kid? Too much for you?" asked the Commissioner with a very blatant tone of disrespect.

Batman narrowed his brows and groaned in irritation at her. "Give me a second. Maybe if you would've gave me some warning-," after a couple more deep breaths he stood upright and faced the old woman with exasperation, taking note of her callous and unnerved expression. "Doesn't that _bother_ you?!" he demanded, motioning for the deceased female who couldn't have been much older than twenty. It wasn't just the fact that she was dead that bothered him, but that her appearance showcased the method in which she died had been obscenely brutal.

Barbara looked at the woman's remains for a moment after his prying, and her eyes hinted somewhat at some miniscule level of grief. "More than you know."

Confusion crossed the vigilante's features. "But how can you hide it? I mean. You-."

Barbara turned from the body and approached her part-time associate as she answered simply, "Years of practice, kid." In her tone was something that made Batman falter – and even caused the man behind the screen who was listening and watching this exchange between his old partner and new predecessor back in the bat cave to feel a twinge of something he hadn't in a very long time: guilt and regret. "Anyways," stated the Commissioner, turning away from the body once more and facing the new Dark Knight, "ordinarily I'd say this has nothing to do with you, but I purposely contacted Bruce given the...situation."

Batman raised a brow, not fully understanding what Gordon was implying. "Care to elaborate?"

Gordon sighed and took a look at her watch, knowing that the time she gave her men to stay out was almost up. She'd have to make it as quick as possible. "I'm saying that she's not the first." Batman gasped but she continued. "In fact, she's case number 12 within the past month. That's an average of 3 a week that this guy is going through."

"Guy? What makes you sure it's a guy?"

"I see no reason why it wouldn't be – after all, all the victims had one distinct thing in a common. A job."

"And that would beee-?" pressed the vigilante as he was starting to get impatient.

Barbara Gordon looked towards the door. "Strippers. They were all strippers."

For whatever reason, Batman seemed somewhat relieved. He was thinking the answer would be simple after all – they had a common factor to look into. "That should make it easy to find this guy, right?"

"Wrong!" yelled Gordon through furrowed brows of anger, causing Batman to take an involuntary step back as he heard a whistle of admiration at her hostility coming from the old man over the com. "Do you have the slightest idea how many strip joints are located just in downtown Gotham alone? Twenty-seven, McGinnis!" The Batman winced at the use of his true identity, proof that he'd righteously pissed the Commissioner off. "And except for a few in that freaky district, most of them aren't exactly close to one another – you know, eliminating competition. The majority of the victims came from different spots, but whoever this guy is, he was crazy enough to hit a couple joints more than once. We can't trace his actions – they're too sporadic. We couldn't figure out where he'd hit next if he left a sign taped to the department door." Gordon jabbed a finger in his direction, "Now some people may not care as much just for the fact that these are strippers, but they are still people, Batman. Still innocent. Some of them had kids and were only trying to make extra money to keep afloat."

Barbara's shoulders sunk with exhaustion as she placed a hand against her forehead. God she was tired. "Look. I can't track this guy. He's a serial killer, and I can't stop him. Do you have the slightest idea how much that pisses me off?" She didn't wait for him to try and answer before staring him straight in the eyes. "It physically pains me to say this, kid, but: I need your help. Batman was always good for taking down any criminal, no matter how big or small. And right now, I'm struggling just to keep the petty ones in control. I'm not giving up bringing this killer in, but I need you to take the forefront on this one, okay? Can you do that?"

She was pissed still, but she was also relying on him – and whether he was Batman or Terry McGinnis, he couldn't disappoint her. "You can count on me Commissioner."

Barbara nodded and turned back for the body as the sounds of her men approaching the door grew louder. "Good. I'll copy and send every file we have on this to _him_. It'll be there within the hour."

He placed his hands on the utility belt and prepared to activate his camouflage, "Got it."

"And kid?"

Batman paused. "Yeah, Commish?"

Barbara bit her lip. "Be careful." She could practically hear his smirk as the door finally pulled open and the officers and detectives poured in in full force, finding only their Commissioner standing over the victim's body in mute silence before she turned for them and ordered, "Alright. I want this scene searched down from head to toe. Give me pictures, samples, fingerprints, SOMETHING! If a roach took a shit within twenty feet of this building, I want to know if it's married with kids. Got it?" A chorus of "yes sirs" erupted from everyone as the immediately took to work.

No one took notice of a glass pane on the ceiling opening up and then closing with a silent squeak all by itself…no one but Barbara, of course.

* * *

Max Gibson raised both arms above her head and stretched with a groan of exertion before leaning against the locker she was in the process of emptying. It was the last day of school for summer vacation and Gibson was more than willing to charge head on into this break. Her plans consisted of sleeping until noon and having no regrets about it in the slightest. Originally she had a summer internship at the "GSM" (Gotham Science Museum and Research Center) in the biology and astrophysics departments. That was, _until_ a certain vigilante battled against the villain Shriek and practically destroyed the whole western wing and damaged some structural points throughout the building. They were still making repairs and the building wasn't expected to be open again until the fall. Now Max was free from her job…and free from making some extra credits to pay the bills. Oh well. She didn't like the director of the Museum and Research Center anyway.

After tossing her last belongings into her backpack, Max swung the strap over her shoulder and made way out of Hamilton Hill High alone. Dana and Chelsea were out shopping (Max hated shopping with those two. They had a certain skill for clearing racks that Max never could imagine having), Nelson was probably somewhere messing around with a cute freshman, and Terry didn't show up at all. Max's cell chimed and she looked at the screen to see a text from McGinnis. Speak of the devil. " _Need your help. Free tonight?_ " read the text. Max's fingers flew over the keyboard and pressed send before she left from the school grounds and made her way for the people mover station (the above ground train that ran around town on elevated platforms). Already the school crowd was thinning significantly and Gibson felt the cool summer breeze pushing through her pink locks.

She prepared to turn the corner and go up the steps for the station and platform when a horn blew to her right and a large luxury car pulled alongside her. It was silver with rich, black tinted windows – obviously costing a fortune. At first she thought Terry had come to pick her up in one of Bruce Wayne's chariots – but when the passenger window rolled down, she caught sight not of her best friend, but a handsome young man (32 at the oldest) in a partially open black collared shirt and dark jeans with paled skin and white hair wearing a pair of tar colored sunglasses. "Excuse me," his smooth and alluring voice urged. Max looked around for a moment, taken back by this guy's glamour and beauty before realizing that he was addressing her. Of course, this was Gotham and the genius teen knew that trust was not a liberty for strangers; even still the street was full of teens and adults commuting around and, sure that she was safe, the pink haired dame stepped towards the car and bent over into the window.

The man looked even better up close. He had the face structure of a super model, and the body of someone into sports like boxing. Built. He turned his face for her and grinned sweetly. "Sorry to bother you, but could you point me in the direction of the Catalpa District? I'm new to town."

Max smiled back, trying to be polite and ignoring the ringing of her cell phone as she pointed straight ahead. "Sure thing. You take this road to the expressway – it's the ramp on your left. Ride it out for about ten minutes and you'll see the Catalpa exit."

The man nodded his head, taking in the information before turning his attention back to the African American beauty before him. "Thanks, I really appreciate it."

Max shrugged. "We're not all assholes in Gotham."

The man chuckled, obviously amused by her wit. "Good to know." Max nodded her farewell and began to walk away when the stranger called out after her, leaning into the passenger seat, "Hey!" Max turned once more to face him. "Maybe we should exchange numbers. In case I need more directions. I'm Casper. What's your name?"

And he tried it. Gibson slouched her hips to the side and briefly folded her arms. "It's Max." She adjusted the strap of her backpack and smirked. "Look, I'm flattered, really. But, sorry Cas. I think you're too old for me. I hope you find what you're looking for, though." She turned away from him once again and started to make her way up the station steps to catch the people mover in time when his melodic voice stated for one final time:

"I just might have, Max." He watched her curvaceous frame disappear up the steps before pulling off in the direction she'd prompted him with an oddly dangerous smirk on his face, adjusting his sunglasses. "I just might have…"

* * *

 _To Be Continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

_Part of my Memorial Day Weekend posts! It is my intention to have at least 2 more stories posted/updated by the holiday. Next on my list is The Enemy's Heart! Please excuse any typos or crap. I tried to piece this together real quick and did a rush job in the editing process. Until next time guys and gals._

* * *

 _ **Dangerous Woman**_

 _ **Chapter Two**_

Max opened the front door to her apartment noisily with an exhaustive sigh as she crossed the threshold – hands full with a large pizza box – and kicked the door shut with her foot. Instead of coming directly home as planned, Gibson ended up making a few stops along the way: including a tech shop that opened last week. She had walked in excitedly, wanting to check out some new equipment that could get her desktop running at 3.5 times its current speed WHILE incognito. However, her excitement found itself dwindling at rapid speed. The prices were ridiculous, even on the cheaper models; instead, the pink haired brain of Hill High settled on purchasing other gear she could rig herself to get her system running 4 times faster for 75% less the cost. So what if technically it was illegal? It's not like anyone would be able to catch her – and the one guy who probably could _wouldn't dare_ because she was working _with_ him. Brilliant, she knew.

Shortly after cursing technological manufacturers and their future children for overpricing, Gibson got a call from Dana and – against her better judgment – decided to meet up with Tan and Chelsea at the mall….that was over four hours ago. By now the sky had darkened towards night and here she was just getting home. Who tried on that many bras? WHY DID ANYONE NEED TO TRY ON THAT MANY BRAS?! The only good thing to come out of the unnecessary hours spent strolling through Gotham's mall was a Jurassic Park t-shirt and much needed sundress. Max tossed her keys and backpack on the kitchen counter before heading to the living room; stuffed crust meat lovers pizza still dutifully in hand.

But the black beauty came to an immediate standstill as she heard something moving from apartment rear where the bedroom was. Max turned slowly, setting the pizza box on the carpeted floor and sliding her left leg outwards until crouched in a fighting stance, fists upraised and ready. Terry might have refused to give her any extensive training for fear that she'd try to get on the streets alongside him, but Gibson was an able bodied, independent black female genius who'd just so happened to have cultivated and developed a unique fighting style all her own. Yes. Yes, she did. Take that McGinnis! She dubbed it: "Street-Jutsu" – a culmination of street fighting skills (because Max could brawl if she had to), fervent Tae Bo (thank God for her mom sending her those old school work out tapes), and Taijutsu. Between that and her oh so reliable taser, Max felt practically indestructible.

Now that she was ready to defend her home from the foolish intruder, Gibson focused and tensed a little as the taste of adrenaline coursed through her mouth. The foreign sound – like feet scurrying against the floor and short huffs of breath – grew louder. A shadow illuminated the wall and Max took a deep breath-.

A large tar colored dog with a thick, brown leathered collar ornamented with silver buckles stepped from around the corner; mouth parted briefly as it let out an agitated whine before sitting on its hunches and staring at the female human patiently, almost like a lifeless statue. Max's posture briefly relaxed as she raised a brow and gaped, "Ace?! How did you-?"

"Thought I'd bring him along," came a voice from her rear right. Gibson gave a surprised yelp and suddenly spun on her right foot in a fluid and perfect motion, left leg extended straight for the unexpected (and unseen) visitor. "Whoa Max!" cried the voice as her leg made contact with what felt like an invisible palm that gripped her ankle. She grounded her right foot to maintain balance as she stayed trapped there in the awkward position; but she was much calmer now. With the adrenaline dying down as recognition struck her, Batman's frame melted out of its camouflage state into sight – and his expression was deliciously caught off guard as he eyed the foot that he'd halted only a few inches from his jaw. The vigilante raised a brow. "This is surprising…" In more ways than one, apparently. The vigilante almost couldn't even follow her attack, and it was just by the grace of the heightened senses that Bruce forced him to develop, that the young hero was even able to stop what would have been a damaging blow in the nick of time. Surprising wasn't the strongest word to describe this moment. He was sure the old man would think of a better one once he reviewed the footage. Oh God…Nevertheless, Max had obviously grown tougher from when the hero last remembered; and while that made him feel awe and appreciation for her developing skill (a skill which could still use a little work from what he could see), it also made him uncomfortable.

How could it not? Though part of him remained appalled by her combative response, there was another part that couldn't shake the random thought that popped in his head as he kept her contained under his will and grasp. Something about the fluidity of her attack seemed unnaturally elegant – and in that elegance, Terry McGinnis (aka the Neo-Gotham Batman) found himself appeased, lured, perhaps he'd even go so far as to say "seduced" by his best friend's attack, and noted how oddly dangerous and beautiful she looked right now. Maybe he'd heard one too many stories from the old man about Selina Kyle, but even still, the furrowed gaze of determination and tenacity upon Max's face captivated him. It sounded crazier than it felt…and it felt unbearably crazy.

Wanting to shake those thoughts, the Bat finally released the girl from his hold and Max smirked as she regained her balance once both feet were safely on the floor. "That's the point," Gibson sassed her best friend's comment with a wipe of the brow. With the excitement finally dead, she suddenly felt exhausted and almost fell back onto the couch; but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of thinking that her stamina was so short lived. He'd never let her live it down. "God, you scared the piss out of me!"

Perfect timing. "Metaphorically speaking, I hope," joked the Dark Knight before fully removing the cowl so she could see his playful smile. "I told you I was coming by, remember?" added the teen with a more concerned expression – worried that she'd forgotten about their scheduled meetup, and that he'd intruded on her privacy.

But Max waved her hands at him, dismissing the young vigilante's misplaced worry before bending over and taking the pizza box so Ace (who'd been staring at the source of tantalizing smell with all the temptation of hell) wouldn't consider getting it. Max knew from experience that once that hellhound claimed something, there was no getting it back – and Gibson did not think Wayne would appreciate the girl scrapping with his canine over a pizza. Then again, Wayne had no idea how desperately in love with Joey's Pizzeria Max was; and if Ace made a go for it, _he'd_ find out first hand. "Yeah," she answered with an exhale, now realizing just how late she'd been out for and relishing in it almost instantaneously. "I just was under the impression it would be a normal visit. You know," she adds motioning for his get up with folded arms and a finger pointed for the boy, " _minus_ the suit."

He supposed he had that coming. The last time Terry visited Max as a friend with no Batman motive behind it was about two months ago. He'd been by her place at least two to three times a week like clockwork, but always in the suit. She must've thought he only saw her as a tool by now. Though over the years, after gaining a deep and profound understanding of one another, there was a part of McGinnis that considered her to be…he didn't know – more? And even greater than that, there was a small inkling in the teen's mind that was tempted to pursue more. How could he not? Their history was rich and growing richer still; the two had a powerful bond. But surely those emotions were one-sided.

With that single thought, the potentiality of chasing after more with Max was frightening, and right then and there the teen vigilante silently swore to himself to combat those feelings by being the best friend ever! He cared for Max a lot, and even though he and Dana had platonically decided it was in their best interest to end their relationship (though after so long the two were still fast friends), McGinnis didn't want to put his best friend through the same unnecessary drama and heartache that he'd bestowed upon Tan. Until then, _this_ was perfect enough as it was and he wouldn't want to ruin it in the least bit. "I thought you liked it when I'm the big bad hero," teased McGinnis as he headed for her bathroom to change into something more casual, disappearing around the apartment corner past the Great Dane still sitting at perfect attention.

"Yeah, well-," answered Max as she went in the kitchen completely unaware of her friend and crime fighting partner's innermost emotional turmoil, and grabbed a few cases of pop and plates. "-I like it better when it doesn't involve giving me a heart attack in my own home. Let's work on that, okay McGinnis?"

"No promises!" came his reply from the bathroom, causing Max to roll her eyes as she returned to the living room and set out the plates and beverages. She was starving, and knew because he'd been in the suit when he arrived, that the Justice League member more than likely was too. Food and justice! She was God's perfect creation.

Max closed the blinds for the windows, then went to her computer to begin installing the new equipment since she suspected from his text earlier that this visit would primarily be a business natured one. Gibson got on her back beneath the desk and shimmied back to the control panel. With her handy screwdriver already discarded back amongst the wires, Max began rerouting wires, unscrewing bolts, and then adjusting the configuration switches on the now exposed panel. The teen was so focused on getting the desktop rigged that she hadn't noticed McGinnis sitting on the couch waiting quietly for her attention as he ignored the new thought that slithered into consciousness concerning her current position. What the hell was in the air tonight?

Once she came out from under the desk and turned on the system to make sure it worked (which it did because, let's face it, she was awesome that way), Max finally caught sight of her vigilante bestie and shook her head before eventually coming to sit next to him. Playfully, she punched his arm and the two chuckled until a loud huff interrupted them. The pink haired femme looked over to the well trained dog that stared them down and pat her thighs. "Alright Ace, come!" The Great Dane snorted and trotted obediently to the couch where he climbed up and snuggled down against Gibson's upraised legs, his head finding rest right on her thigh as she stroked his head. He liked her. Even though he didn't show it in the manner most dogs would, it was plain to see that he found her presence soothing. And with Terry as a secondary master, soothing was just what the Dane needed. "Is he hungry?" asked the girl.

"Naaah, he ate like a pig before he got here. Bruce gives him the best stuff. He's spoiled as hell in the belly."

"Why did you bring him anyway? I mean, it's not like I don't enjoy having the most obedient dog in the universe stalking around my apartment like the shadow of death itself, but-."

Terry smirked nervously and rubbed a hand against the back of his neck. "Well…Bruce went to China this afternoon and won't be back for a few days. I told him I'd keep an eye on Ace but my mom feels…" he struggled to find the right word. "… _uncomfortable_ with him in the house. She says he's _too_ well behaved, too quiet. It freaks her out. Anyways, after you saved him from choking on that bone a while back he seems to like you, so I figured-."

"No problem," interrupted Max as she massaged the dog on the forehead just above both eyes, earning her a wag of the tail. "I'll keep an eye on him. My sister won't be back in a while anyways so he can stay as long as the old man needs."

Terry's shoulders relaxed. "Thanks."

Max shrugged. "It's summer vacation, and I have nothing better to do…not since you destroyed my only place of employment-!"

"I love you too, Max," chuckled the hero as he reached for a slice of pizza and handed it to Gibson before taking a second for himself. Silence filled the apartment for a while as the teens ate, but even when they found themselves cracking up about hilarious moments throughout the school year or what they'd be doing over the summer, Max knew he couldn't delay the inevitable any further.

Once the pizza box (now practically empty) was moved into the kitchen, Max leaned her back against the counter and folded her arms. "So," she began. "What's up?"

Of course she'd catch up on his primary motive for being here. They'd been doing this for how long now? Max probably knew Terry more than he even knew himself. Still, McGinnis hesitated. While he knew utilizing Max was easy enough and would benefit whatever work he needed as Batman in the end, he also knew Max had an itchy trigger finger for wanting to be more helpful than from the sidelines. She'd proven that on one too many occasions than the young man liked to remember. And he had a gut feeling that this particular case would be no different. Still, Bruce was gone, and McGinnis still learning how to effectively make use of the super computer himself in the cave. Right now he needed Max; and his need for her might have been the one thing that meant finding and stopping the serial killer. McGinnis took a swig of the coke can in his palm and nodded. "I need your help with this." Terry pulled something out of his pants pocket and held up a small computer disc.

Max cocked her head a little and crossed the room, taking the disc into her fingertips curiously, delicately. "And what exactly _is_ this?"

"Data concerning a case. It's from the Commissioner," Terry added, following Max to her computer as she plopped down into the seat, injected the disc, and began typing on the keypad until a control window popped up. "I need your help running some diagnostics, narrowing down some information."

Max's fingers flew across the keypad as her eyes focused on the screen in an almost trance-like state, causing Terry to smirk a little at how serious she was taking this job. "Okay? So what am I looking for, per say?" Before Terry could even answer, a set of files popped up onto the screen. Max began clicking around until she came to a folder titled _Photo. Evidence_. McGinnis wasn't able to stop her in time – she selected the folder and a swarm of images covered the computer…images of dead women. Max covered her mouth with a gasp, recoiling her hand from the wireless mouse as if it were a body itself. She instinctively leaped back in the chair and if it weren't for McGinnis grabbing it, she might have flipped over. "Oh God…" Max whispered, feeling his comforting hand on her shoulder as the boy knelt swiftly beside his best friend and turned the chair so ]it faced him, sensing and disliking her discomfort. Maybe this wasn't the best idea after all. She looked into his eyes; eyes filled with the purest of concern for her emotional state as they overlooked the girl in caution. "Terry…" she whispered, feeling suddenly very ill as she tried to stand but instead fell forward a bit into his arms. Max had seen some screwed up things in her life in Gotham – and even more so since joining the Dark Knight. But this? The images on that disc were beyond vile. How could anybody on this earth think of such sickening means of torture and murder? Who could even do that to another human being?!

Terry's arms were around her protectively as they stood up and the hero kept his best friend secure, hoping she wouldn't faint. But as his arms pressed her frame against his and he murmured comforting words to her – as Max's hands pulled himself into her as if his very body was the greatest form of protection from whatever harm Gotham could bestow – they both momentarily paused at an invisible surge of mental electricity, a realization, that caught them both at the same moment. It was so strong they looked to each other in search of an answer to the event. The two teens' eyes locked on one another for a second – a second that felt like an eternity – until McGinnis whispered in a low and mysterious tone: "I got you…" For whatever reason there seemed to be more meaning hidden behind that single statement than perhaps the young Dark Knight might have intended. "Come on, let me take you to the couch," he added with speed as he began heading back for the living area with Gibson in tow.

Sure she was caught off guard. Most definitely so! Whether as himself or the Dark Knight, Max had seen a lot of emotions in Terry's eyes over the years: sadness, joy, concern, weariness, confusion, irritation, fear, panic, surrender, anger, disappointment, rage – many of which were directed at herself. But the last time she'd seen this look…No. There was no way that look could be meant for her and yet her heart had skipped a beat; and in that moment Gibson was afraid that her deepest secret would be exposed at his whim; especially with this mutual feeling that appeared to surge through them both.

But, electricity or not, Max dug her heels into the carpet, stopping the teen's involuntary retreat as she shook her head. "No. No, I'm fine," she tried to assure him although his facial expression proved he didn't really believe her in the slightest; but that was probably because he could sense her bullshitting a mile off. Between _this_ and the images of gruesome murder on the computer screen, Max wasn't fine. Far from it. However, they had a job to do, and if lying about how much this bothered her meant getting back on that computer and digging up clues that would help the Dark Knight stop whatever monster was leaving bodies dismantled and broken and mutilated like that, then she'd lie all the damn day long.

"Max," Terry warned through narrowed brows as he started to tuck a hand under Gibson's knees and force the girl off her feet so he could take her to lie down.

Oh hell no! He was not going to carry her off princess style. "I said I'm fine!" Max argued back, gently yet firmly shoving the blue eyed best friend off and practically throwing herself back in the chair. "I just…why didn't you warn me, dreghead?!" Possible romantic tension – finito.

McGinnis flinched at her accusation before responding back hotly, "You move so damn fast on that thing," he said pointing for the computer monitor, "that I didn't have a chance too." Confused by her unusual response, Terry ran a frustrated hand through his black locks alongside an exhale of blatant irritation. This was a bad idea. Obviously. "Look, just give me back the disc. I'll take it to the cave and try to figure it out myself." Terry began to reach for the disc drive, but Max slapped his hand in rebuke so hard that even Ace sat up from his comfortable spot on the couch to watch the altercation. Meanwhile, Terry cradled his reddened hand to his chest and hissed in discomfort before turning an angered gaze straight for the pink haired genius, who was once more facing the screen and typing away. "What the FUCK, Max?!"

"Peg it," answered back Gibson, distracted by the forms and images on the screen that popped up with case details electronically noted throughout the files. "By the time you figure out just how to turn the computer on, Bruce will be back. I just needed a minute to pull together. I got this." Silence overwhelmed for a brief second before Max added softly, "Oh…and sorry…I didn't mean to flip on you. Really."

It would have been less stressful if she'd said that from the get go! Terry opened his mouth to retort, but noticed that despite her diligence, her posture was fairly rigid and stiff. Guilt crawled up his spine. Even though she was obviously still affected negatively by what she'd seen, she was still working hard for him. Max was pushing past her discomfort to help him…it touched and broke his heart in the worst ways. Somehow McGinnis had always known that the Hill High top student made sacrifices on his behalf; but none of it really came quite together until this very moment. The vigilante had no idea just how lucky he was to have someone like her so willing to halt everything else in their world just because he asked so. Surely even the stubbornly illustrious, brilliant, and hard hitting Maxine required more praise on his behalf than he'd been giving her. "You're not as indestructible as you think you are, Max."

Gibson scoffed. "Coming from the guy who wears a technologically advanced, super powered suit…"

Sassy little femme. He could have retorted, but rather than stress her out even more, Terry grabbed a stool from the kitchen counter and pulled up a seat right at her left side. He placed a hand on her shoulder, and when Max looked at him with a bit of confusion, Terry merely smiled in the way she loved and said, "I'm right here, okay? Take all the time you need." Just because he allowed her to continue on with this madness, didn't mean he was blind to the uneasiness it caused her as a result. Terry knew better than anyone that there was no arguing with Max, especially when she was hell bent on lending a helping hand; still, the teen knew his part was still in play: and that was making her feel safe. Always. Maxine Ariana Gibson felt her very soul flutter as she reached her left hand up and placed it on top of his.

There was a second surge of electricity between them. McGinnis leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Max's temple and she let out a drawn sigh. "You're lucky I love you, you little vampire bat," she teased as her left fingers caressed his jaw. Her touch sent an involuntary shiver down his spine and the hero felt his lower abdomen quiver with a rush of tingles and warmth. Shit. Oh shit. Without another word, Terry bit his lip and wrapped both arms across the top of her shoulders. Something strange strengthened in him at this moment – something that ordinarily he'd been too weak to say before. Somehow, right now seemed like it could be right. Somehow…He prepared to whisper her name when, "Wait, what's this?" Max asked, causing the protégé to sulk with disappointment before turning his attention back for the screen and where Max was pointing. Maybe this was a sign… "These girls are all exotic dancers."

"Yeah?" pressed Terry as his attention suddenly grew tight. The tone in her voice revealed that she just might have figured out something; finally they might be getting somewhere on this case. "The killer's gotten twelve already. About an average of three a week, but there's inconsistencies with even that sum. Gordon can't find a lead on where he's hitting, how often, or where's he's going to hit next."

Max's brows furrowed as she minimized the files from the disc and instead got onto the internet, much to the hero's vague surprise – but knowing Max, it was not without precedence. Sure enough, within moments the young female had hacked the Police Department's secure data system and drew up a detailed map of Gotham. Terry whistled in praise. "Maaax, why are you so bad?"

"Not bad," Gibson corrected with a cocky grin. "Smart. Look." She typed in a few more commands and a slew of red dots overwhelmed the map. "These," the girl explained, motioning for the dots, "are all the strip clubs in Gotham _period_. You're looking at 43 registered facilities. Now this is Gotham after all, so you can expect to find about 3-8 illegal spots running through the slums of Gotham's underground."

Interesting. "Do I really want to know how you know all of this?" asked McGinnis curiously.

Max shrugged as she began logging in coordinates, "My sister considered dancing at a 'high end institution' – as she put it. Times were tough after the divorce. Anyways, each of these case files has identities on the victims and where they worked. If I input that data the computer will map it out until we geeet…this!"

The screen zoomed in on a ten mile radius. Eight purple dots flashed along the map, indicating locations – some within close proximity to one another, and the others so far apart they almost seemed to be randomly sprinkled there just to confuse authorities – and Terry got up from his seat and leaned forward into the monitor. His icy blue eyes narrowed. "There's only eight locations shown here. He killed twelve girls."

Max nodded her head. "Yeah, but two girls were killed at Dirty Dollz, and two at Pantera."

McGinnis pressed his balled fingers against his chin in thought – not realizing just how much like the old man he was looking right now. "Okay," he started after a moment of thought. "Can you log in the dates of each attack at each location, and see if the computer can figure out a pattern?"

Now it was Max's turn to question her friend's logic. "You think the killer even has one?"

Terry's cell rung with an automated distress notification from the super computer concerning a crime taking place somewhere in Gotham. He gave Max an apologetic look that explained their time together was up, and headed back for the bathroom to change while Gibson pulled up the disc files and began writing down the dates and names of the clubs where the victims worked so it would be easier to input on the map. Some moments later the Dark Knight was back, crossing the apartment stealthily, and at the window about to take off. "Terry!" Max called as he looked over his shoulder. "You think the killer has a pattern?" she repeated, almost desperate to know.

Gauging her expression and putting the question into mind, Batman's deep voice answered back, showcasing the hero's seriousness about his line of work, "All the clubs in Gotham, and he only hits those eight? Some people would call that planning – maybe even _preference_ ; which given the circumstances could make this case easier to solve, or tougher." That realization made him internally cringe before continuing. "Either the guy is sporadic, or methodic: both are a problem. Whichever way, we need some kind of lead before he kills someone else. In the meantime, after I take care of this, I'll be patrolling around some of those areas listed on your map, seeing if I can find out anything. Don't wait up." The Dark Knight turned from her, placed a foot on the window sill for leverage and spread his wings. But before he could take off, the hero paused and glanced over his shoulder at his own personal Oracle. "And Max?"

Gibson blinked, curious. "Yeah?"

The whitened eyes of his cowl narrowed with stern but gentle warning. "…Don't call me Terry…" And with a bounding leap, he was gone.

* * *

He closed the front door to his two-story home and jogged down the front steps before turning into the driveway and unlocking the car door. Somehow under the moonlight his skin seemed even more paled, more ghastly…more ghost-like. And a ghost he was. Even though it was dark out, he wore the black sunglasses religiously, knowing what laid beneath them would disturb any normal man or woman, and he simply couldn't have that. He climbed into the car and pushed the glasses down a little, staring into the rearview mirror that reflected back those demon black eyes and whitened pupils as an eerie smirk spread across his lips.

No, they couldn't be disturbed. When he was ready for them, they'd experience something far stronger than that, and that thought sent a shiver of pleasure racing across his entire, god-like body…

He would make sure they'd feel nothing less than terror. Absolutely delicious, tantalizing, _arousing_ …Terror.

* * *

 _To Be Continued..._


End file.
